


New day's dawn

by StormXPadme



Series: Tales Untold [8]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arguing, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Marshes, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Healers, Healing, Houses of Healing, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Minas Tirith, Original Character Death(s), Poisoning, Self-Doubt, Serious Injuries, Third Age, based on movies and books except for the Hobbit movies, characters and tag will be added as we go, referenced miscarriage, the epic tale of Aragorn being done with the whole family Oropherion's shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-27 09:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: After the Stewardaides' attack, Aragorn is fighting for his life. The crisis in Ithilien is far from over as well and drains everyone involved of their last strength ...
Relationships: Aragorn & Original Female Elf Character(s), Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Arwen & Original Female Elf Character(s), Arwen Undómiel & Éowyn, Erestor & Original Female Elf Character(s), Faramir (Son of Denethor II) & Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Erestor, Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Elf Character(s)
Series: Tales Untold [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559689
Comments: 12
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover: http://racoonicorn.myartsonline.com/ndd.jpg
> 
> This is a translation of part #8 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series (https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/46446a160000161f06700fa0/1/Tales-Untold-NEW-DAY-039-S-DAWN-8-). I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
> 
> The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
> 
> "New day's dawn" is set in January of T.A. 3020, a few months after the War of the Ring.
> 
> Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:  
> Legolas has recently married a young healer elf from Lórien named Tarisilya that he had - secretly, for political reasons - been in love with for a thousand years. After the Battle of the Black Gate, Aragorn healed both Tarisilya from almost withering away and Arwen from a bad injury that has likely left her infertile. They traveled to Imladris so that Arwen's family could try to further heal her. Tarisilya became pregnant after the wedding but lost the baby in a battle in Rohan.
> 
> In Aragorn's absence, a group of enemies named Stewardaides formed in Gondor who rather want to see Faramir rule Gondor. After Aragorn was crowned King, they kidnapped and tortured Arwen before Aragorn and Legolas could free her.
> 
> Erestor and Glorfindel meanwhile had been trying to deal with the realization that there's far more than physical attraction between them. Erestor was meant to join Glorfindel in Imladris' army recently, but upon learning about the Stewardaides, Elrond sent Erestor to Minas Tirith to help Aragorn solve this crisis.
> 
> A few months after Aragorn's coronation, the Stewardaides attacked the elf settlement that Legolas had built together with a group of his people - Tauriel among them - to help heal Ithilien from the wounds of war. Getting a heavily pregnant Tauriel to safety, Legolas got trapped in a cave, threatened by a warg, together with both mother and child, while the rest of the elves were taken prisoner by the Stewardaides. Tarisilya went to save her husband together with Legolas' advisor Thondrar who then got hurt severely by the warg. Meanwhile, the Stewardaides took the chance as the city was being almost emptied of soldiers, to attack Aragorn and Arwen. While Arwen made it out of the night unscathed, Aragorn was badly stabbed with a poisonous blade and is currently on the brink of death. While Faramir found out that no other but one of his old Rangers is leading the Stewardaides and tried to negotiate with them in North Ithilien, the elves whom the enemies had pretended to set free were chased into the Dead Marshes by another group of Stewardaides. After realizing what was going on, Faramir and his soldiers volunteered to help Legolas search for his people.

**_O_** ne would suppose, last night had taught Arwen to fear silence.

For too long, her beloved partner and she had been confronted with the complete helplessness of being cut off from the outside world in the cruel hours of the White Tower Poisoning that had only just ended. In the foreseeable future, Arwen would definitely not find the inner peace that especially the absence of every outside stimulation had often provided her with in the past. When at some point, she had only been able to cower beside Aragorn on the floor of his bedroom chambers and hope for rescue, with heavily armed enemies outside of barricaded doors and windows, his silence had been the worst.

That and the complete hopelessness in Aragorn's eyes after the Stewardaides had injured him with a special blade. A man like the King of Gondor and Arnor usually faced every challenge no matter how big. But when Aragorn had realized, a rare poison was flowing in his veins, something in him had broken. He'd thought to have lost the fight before it had even begun.

And Arwen had soon run out of words to convince him otherwise.

Still not being able to do anything more than sitting around inactively in an office in the Houses of Healing after having being freed, in the company of one of Aragorn's old Ring Companions from the war, while the healers had feverishly tried to find out anything about the poison, hadn't exactly made her any more talkative.

No one could find comfort in such a situation. Not when a whole group of skilled craftsmen was trying in vain to stabilize their leader's condition just a few rooms apart.

Now that morning was starting to break and they finally let Arwen inside that certain room though – probably only by order of one of the best healers in these realms except for Aragorn himself, who had had to be dragged back to the city by her collar first, after a suicide mission in North Ithilien –, she almost yearned for a little more quietness.

Here at Aragorn's sickbed, she was ceaselessly surrounded by healers and nurses instead who were provoking unnecessary discussions. That was almost worse than the uncertainty before.

The likeliest antidote that the scientists had discovered by now, not least thanks to the help of Erestor, Arwen's old friend from Imladris, was fortunately not as rare as the poison itself, but it was made up of many different ingredients. If one of them was missing or was being of lower quality, it made the whole mixture unusable. A few herbs had first had to be collected in the area around Minas Tirith, others hadn't been available in the necessary quantity. Therefore, even more, precious time had been wasted, since to top it all, the remedy had had to brew over the fire for a long while.

It was only by the help of strengthening potions that the healer had somehow been able to keep the King away from that dangerous line, the crossing of which would have had his heart stop.

Until that point, they all had still hoped that Aragorn would immediately recover after being given the antidote. It was too late for such an easy victory though. Now, no one could do anything anymore but pouring water down Aragorn's throat that his body, tortured by a high fever, urgently needed.

Which was another reason why Arwen couldn't be even a little happy that she could at least be by her beloved's side now. They had basically given up hope, that was all. Since not only Tarisilya but probably everyone at the court knew by now that she had been with the King on the devastating night of the attack, they didn't want to deny Arwen being with him in what was possibly his last hours.

That a few of the Stewardaides responsible for this were dead, was no triumph. This battle was far from over, not here and not out there in Nord Ithilien where a few members of Arwen's folk were being threatened by these fanatic enemies of the King as well, her best elvish friend among them.

And still, Arwen couldn't do anything but clumsily hold Aragorn's hand, tensely watching every feverish spasm that had him toss and turn, the nightmares that tortured his mind and had his eyes twitch under his lids. She silently stared at the pale, sweat-covered face of the man that she was being officially betrothed to since last night by mannish standards as well, and prayed to the Valar. She only stirred to impatiently wipe her eyes because tears were the last thing that would change anything right now, or when she gave Aragorn something to drink. When she brushed back his stringy, dark curls or raised his hand to her lips to breathe a kiss to it.

There was no doubt, this day would be just as long as the prior night, and her strength was beginning to fade.

If they were all being very unlucky, this catastrophe wouldn't just destroy the living symbol of Men of their new peace after all the terrors of war. Legolas' advisor Thondrar, too, who had been badly wounded by a warg in the course of the crisis at Cair Andros, had been brought into this room, and his condition was just as critical. That fact hurt especially Arwen badly, who had seen this elf snap the necks of aggressive wolves with his bare hands in the past, and had learned from him how to pierce an orc's carotid with an arrow even on horseback, in full gallop.

Legolas' wife had insisted on having both patients in here to be able to look after them at the same time. Again and again, Tarisilya raised her voice to snap at someone to bring her something, to do something entirely different, to work faster, or to just leave their post so she could take their place.

Though she knew that it was unfair, Arwen just wanted every single one of these people to be as far away from here as possible. She would probably have personally chased everyone away who wasn't being of any use right now if she hadn't felt petrified, unable to even turn her head to regard Tarisilya with icy glances.

Arwen would cling to hope until the last second but the situation's despair was choking her. Should the poison indeed already have created too much havoc in Aragorn's body, she wanted at least to be able to say a quiet good-bye. Maybe he would be able to hear what she wanted to murmur in his ear and leave these realms with her endless love in his soul. That was something she wanted to do without having to mind any rules of decency, without complete strangers standing beside her, men who, at most, had spotted Aragorn from a distance so far. And without her words being known in the whole city shortly afterward.

At this point though, she couldn't admit it to herself yet that the time for that had come. For the moment, she had to put up with the hustle around the two of them.

Only when Tarisilya's nagging sounded through the room repeatedly within just a minute, Arwen yanked her head around. "Can you be _quiet_? If you want to keep on being rude to people, please get Thondrar to another room. If you don’t plan to take care of Aragorn anyway, leave him in peace!"

Sure, Tarisilya probably couldn't do anything for Aragorn either right now; the outburst wasn't fully justified. The other she-elf had made a big sacrifice by personally creating the antidote. Precious time that would maybe cost Thondrar his life and definitely prevent his full recovery.

Still, Tarisilya did deserve Arwen's anger; after all, she had sneaked out of the city in secret yesterday to get to Cair Andros. This thing had only happened to Thondrar because he had had to come to help Tarisilya during that highly risky Waterfall Rescue there, already being injured himself. Tarisilya had set all of Arwen's warnings at naught and then hadn't immediately been there when she had been needed here so urgently, that was just how it was.

Maybe it would have been better for them to talk about this, but Tarisilya hardly looked up from her work. She stood by her decision. Thondrar and she had not only saved Legolas but also an elf from the settlement along with her newborn child. But the price had been high.

When the other she-elf took her hands off Thondrar's grotesquely swollen upper arm, Arwen startled as she had to fear, it might indeed already have happened that one of the patients hadn't made it. Too bitter this development would have been, too big the fear that it wouldn't take long now for the second one to draw his last breath as well.

But it was tension, too, that had her recoil. Just one wrong word from Tarisilya's lips would be enough to have Arwen lose it at last. And that would waste the last of her mental energy today that she needed to save, to be able to keep on sitting here.

To her relief, Tarisilya only instructed one of the healers to change the bandages on the brave elven warrior while she sat down at Aragorn's bedside and rested one hand on his forehead. Arwen could only imagine how much the last few days – without any rest, haunted by the fear for her husband and going to battle against superior enemies – had worn the other she-elf out, but except for a short tremble, she didn't let it show. The same determination that she had started this whole endeavor with wouldn't leave her for even a second before the two patients' fate was decided.

Determination alone wasn't enough to fight a serious sickness though. "Ioreth, the book, please."

The healer woman grimaced. She seemed to consider telling the she-elf to kindly get the thing herself for a moment. But then she left her place by the door after all. Until now, the grey-haired woman had mostly been watching everything, knowing that the healers that she had personally schooled for decades could have achieved as little as she could – which was almost nothing – in a case like Thondrar's. So she had remained in a waiting position, to be able to step in, in case of emergency. And to be informed about everything, Arwen thought slightly unkindly, who had got to know Ioreth as someone very resolute but also a little gossipy at her own stay in the provisory sick tent of Cair Andros after the Battle of the Black Gate.

However, the slightly sturdy woman wasn't just overbearing and filled with endless seeming energy; first and foremost she was experienced. Of all the people here, she was the one Tarisilya had had to teach least. While she noticeably didn't appreciate it, having been bested by a sometimes immature seeming she-elf, she had not said even one bad word about the Princess since she was helping out here. And her curiosity was something, nothing could rid the woman of anyway. When she took the book, clad in red leather, from Thondrar's nightstand that Tarisilya had already been skimming a few times earlier, she couldn't help but take a short look inside.

Arwen knew this thing very well. On the day of Tarisilya's wedding, she had quite resolutely taken it from her friend, so that she finally would abandon some superstitions regarding a few legends about the moon and her origin.

Ioreth, too, promptly stumbled upon the Poem of the Moon on one of the first pages and eyed Tarisilya slightly disconcerted. "Not half as romantic and glorious as the stories that people usually tell about you, Your Highness. Are you sure _this_ is something, you can help anyone with?"

"It's my mother's story," Tarisilya replied briefly. "I do not plan to make it mine. Someone is approaching who has no business being here. Please make sure he doesn't come in."

That confused the healer even more, but then she heard quiet footsteps outside as well and immediately stumped to the door, with tight shoulders and her head held high. Whoever that was would definitely have to get past her first.

Given how hard Tarisilya tried _not_ looking that way, Arwen had a pretty good idea regarding the visitor, even without having enough attention left herself right now to hear noises hardly detectable for non-elves. Besides, it was easy enough to recognize Erestor's deep, smoky voice even from a distance, a sound that an equally angry tone from Gimli mixed with, who was condemned to wait in the corridor just like everyone else. If Arwen heard that right, the two were arguing because no one had thought of contacting Gimli when the troubles at Cair Andros had become known, thanks, in part, to Erestor's unfortunate misconception that the dwarf had been in Rohan at the time. The two of them were undoubtedly longing for good news just like everyone else at the court. But even authoritarian figures like the Ring Companion and Lord Elrond's – and right now, Aragorn's – advisor would have to capitulate to Ioreth who had made the Houses of Healing her own little Kingdom.

Tarisilya obviously had bigger things to worry about right now. Her usually so gentle green brown eyes had narrowed, turned into unusually dark shining pools. Her full lips had turned into a hardly visible line. Her mother's book laid right next to Aragorn's head; on it, her right arm where she wore the bracelet that Legolas' father had given her for the wedding, that had a picture of her mother in it. In the bright noon light falling in through the big windows, the jewel was glistening as if it had come to life. Her right hand's fingertips stroked Aragorn's forehead, his temple, while she spoke quiet words in Sindarin, growling rather than murmuring, too quickly even for Arwen to understand each of the phrases in her mother tongue. If she hadn't known better, she'd fear the other she-elf wanted to curse her patient instead of helping him. Her left hand was on his chest, right above his heart. It seemed to Arwen, it had got a great deal colder as if an open window was allowing the icy January in. Daylight didn't really seem to brighten the room anymore, almost as if a fine fog had spread.

Then Tarisilya started to sing, a song that Arwen had never heard from her father or her brothers when they'd cared for patients. It didn't sound like one of those long, lamenting hymns from Lórien either, more like a hissed and stammered prayer.

_with the silence now broken, cast your eyes at me_

_you have seen me before_

_let the night feast on your fears_

_I have come for you_

_the shadow keeps on growing_

_keeps on chasing time until its up_

_stride on ever faster_

_even if you might not know the way_

_what fate has chosen to happen_

_will not wait for us_

_I have come for you_

_I have come for you_

Alarmed, Arwen started to get up when Tarisilya slumped forward with a small scream, breathing heavily. With her forehead braced against Aragorn's shoulder, she cowered on the bed for a few long moments before straightening up again, like in slow motion. The next words, Arwen easily understood again, although they were being spoken even more quietly. _These_ , she had heard from her family before often enough. "Thuio, Elessar. Sedho … sedho."

Whatever it was that Tarisilya had done, Aragorn apparently sensed it even in his unconsciousness. He was breathing a bit stronger than before; the twitches of his limbs that had haunted him even in this condition seemed to have become at least bearable for a short while.

Arwen didn't leave Tarisilya out of her sight for even a moment when she got to her feet sluggishly. She seemed a little paler than before, but the qualm already seemed to have passed.

Instead of her being able to feel gratitude, her anger just grew stronger. "You can't be serious! You never let patients suffer on purpose before! You could have done that much earlier!" She grabbed Aragorn's hand once more and turned away to study his face, not inviting any reaction. She simply couldn't care less what her friend had to say about the reproach.

The other she-elf seemed to sense that and didn't even try; there wasn't time anyway.

Her mood visibly hit bottom when Ioreth appeared in the half-open doorway, looking back and forth between her and Erestor. " _What_?"

"News from North Ithilien, Your Highness." After having seemed unnerved a moment ago, Ioreth now radiated exactly the deep compassion that made her such a good healer. "A few of Prince Faramir's soldiers are back."

Tarisilya's hand clenched around a bedpost. Ioreth's expression left no doubt that there was bad news, but _how_ bad? "Fine. You have half a minute."

"How gracious."

When Erestor impatiently pushed past Ioreth, his eyes fell on Thondrar. His skin, always so unnaturally pale anyway, turned another shade whiter. Apparently, no one had informed him yet how bad his old acquaintance really was doing. "Did you send a message to Imladris?"

"Why? There's nothing to report yet. By the time, a delegation from the valley arrives here, he'll already be training again." Tarisilya clearly tried sounding more optimistic than she was. "Besides, this is a sick room, not a meeting hall; unqualified remarks don't help anyone here. Your time is running."

"Your husband's fate doesn't seem to be very important to you." After a night as long as this, not even Erestor could properly voice his usual cynicism. Arwen had seldom seen a more tired elf. "The arrested Stewardaides were taken to the prison. The leader could flee, along with about half of these insane people. The rest of the soldiers stayed with Prince Faramir at the Dead Marshes to support His Highness of Eryn Lasgalen."

"Doing what?"

The relief that nothing had happened to Legolas at least, had Tarisilya realize only belatedly the kind of terrible news that message could only mean. Her knees gave in; she had to drop on a chair next to Thondrar's bed. "Where are the others? _What did they do to them_?" How loud she suddenly was being, in here of all places, made it clear that Tarisilya, as well, was at the end of her strength.

"I hope Faramir's troops will have found out until I get there. Gimli and I are leaving together. There’s nothing left holding him here." Erestor tried to hide in vain how much it was upsetting him, seeing a she-elf lose control like that whom no one had ever seen so vulnerable during a healing session.

He briefly nodded at Arwen and quickly went back outside before a treacherous wrinkle in his usually so stoic face could possibly reveal real emotions.

"Get him back." Tarisilya didn't even seem to realize that she was giving Ioreth yet another order without having the right to; but the woman, visibly shaken by what she'd just heard, took that one without a comment as well.

"What now?" With a snort, the black-haired elf approached once more. "My half a minute was up."

"I don't like people bleeding on my office floor." Tarisilya pointed at a few stray drops of red on the bright wooden planks.

"Ioreth, take care of it, please. Judging by the hole in the tunic, left lower back."

"Don't you have anything better to do, Ilya?" Erestor allowed the healer only reluctantly to maneuver him onto a third bed, but then stared at the deep stab wound on his waist pretty dumbfounded himself. "Oh."

" _Oh_?" Ioreth threw her arms in the air in disbelief and immediately started caring for the infected injury that was still bleeding away. "I bet that's from your fight in the King's House, am I right? How can you walk through the Citadel for hours with something like that and not notice?"

"Insensitivity to pain. Hereditary." The wound seemed to have affected Erestor for quite a while already, given how communicative the King's advisor suddenly became, how he was sounding less and less snappy now.

"Which is why Lord Glorfindel gave up trying to train you back then if I remember right," Tarisilya let out. "You never knew your limits."

"Right. We have something very elementary in common there, don't we?" Arwen was already expecting one of the usual arguments between her two friends, but after Erestor's last comment, they luckily went silent.

With the treatment completed and three quick, neat stitches in place, Erestor could at least stand straight again. Before he left, he stopped at Thondrar's bed again, worriedly shaking his head. "Send a pigeon anyway, Ilya. Lord Elrond himself encouraged Thondrar to accept this challenge in North Ithilien. He has a right to know what happened. And so does Thondrar's father."

"As soon as I can get out of here for a few minutes." Tarisilya was focusing on her patients again but listening closely, one noticed, her tone had changed. That Erestor had helped to save Aragorn and Arwen and especially that he wanted to ride to Ithilien now in spite of his condition, impressed her visibly; at least she spared him the usual pettiness. Instead, she was searching for a word that didn't exist in her vocabulary when it came to this eccentric Noldo.

He put her off. "I'm doing this for the others, not for you. I'm way past that, though you've been refusing to acknowledge that for centuries." Whether it was Ioreth's healing herbs or the latest events: At least for a few seconds, the coldness in Erestor's dark eyes was replaced by old grief clearly directed at Tarisilya. The tension that had been prevailing between them the whole time was nothing but a wall of pure disappointment.

"I wish you could have understood me at some point, that's all." Tarisilya's eyes were on the bare white wall when something escaped her that she had been hiding quite well since she had first crossed Erestor's way again last year, in the courtyard after his arrival in Minas Tirith.

"Oh, but I have for a while." The deep emptiness of a dream given up on left big circles under Erestor's eyes which had them look even more piercing. "You go through all the fires of this world for him. You were never ready to do the same for me. In the end, that made it quite easy to cut you out."

Though it brought tears to her eyes, Tarisilya's notorious defiance now helped her looking at Erestor after all. "You always knew that I wasn't certain if we could make it work at all."

" _That_ was never what I blamed you for, child of the moon." A gesture usually meant for comfort didn't send shivers only down Tarisilya's back when Erestor wiped away her tears almost with contempt as if they were his enemies. The impersonal form of address that elves usually paid their respect to Tarisilya's fate with, sounded like pure scorn from his mouth. "Only that you haven't tried with all of your heart like you promised me. And now, Ilya, it's _me_ who never wants to talk about this again."

In the silence, the door quietly closing sounded like thunder.

Tarisilya watched Erestor leave for a few long seconds before she lowered her head and swallowed her last tears, her eyes closed for a brief moment. "I _did_ try. That's why it hurts so much."

"As a healer, you should know that a mere attempt is never enough."

Arwen grabbed a cloth from Aragorn's nightstand and soaked it in the water bowl next to the pile to put the cooling fabric on his heated forehead, her fingertips stroking through her beloved's beard.

"Why don't you ask Erestor how much it hurts him that you just _tried_ instead of constantly blaming him?"

Her eyes grazed Thondrar's lifeless figure once more. "Go back to caring for your patients already. The world is bigger than your problems. What's between Erestor and you, you've already been carrying around long enough. You'll get by a few more days."

"You don't understand." Though the anger between them kept on growing, for now, Arwen's admonishment had helped; Tarisilya continued her treatment.

"There are many things you don't understand. Do you seriously think I'm letting His Majesty suffer on purpose? You know me so little? When next you visit your father, get him to explain to you why things like the ones I just told him, to share his pain, should never be said out loud as long as there are any other possibilities. And while you're on it, once this is over, ask Aragorn if he would have wanted another patient to die because of me wasting my powers to shield myself from such dangerous magic so that it won't seduce my soul. I can't change what happened. If my actions do result in Gondor losing the King that it had had to wait for so long, that's what I'll carry with me in grief for a close friend my whole eternity. But I will still not apologize for saving my husband's life. You would have done exactly the same, Nauriel."

"Don't call me that. Not now." Arwen's hand had turned into a fist. Only the weakness that was still in her bones after the disturbing night prevented her from jumping up. The new surname that her grandmother Galadriel had given her at Tarisilya's wedding and that so far, actually, only Aragorn had used, in the few moments when they had been alone, shattered the rest of her composure.

"There's a big difference between a rescue mission and reckless stupidity. You shamelessly exploited others worrying about you and sneaked out because you knew exactly how wrong it was! Look at the price, Thondrar has paid for that! How difficult would it have been to ask for help? Send someone else with the knowledge you had? How much of your pride would it have taken to ask Erestor, for example, so that it wouldn't be an injured elf of all people standing by your side, just because you mean much to him? Is it worth Thondrar's life that you finally proved your stubbornness to everyone? _Tell me_!"

"Let's cut it out. That isn't helping right now." Tarisilya's pained glance at Aragorn showed Arwen just how right she was, and that the other she-elf was only frantically trying to push all this away from her, to not let it hinder her work.

"If it gets worse again, tell me. After all that Aragorn has done for Legolas and me, it's probably the smallest sacrifice, bearing the same darkness that had once Saruman and Sauron fall already." It should have sounded ironic, but at least it assured Arwen that Tarisilya understood the situation very well, that she was suffering with her and was ready to go even further beyond her limits to make up for what she had done wrong.

It helped to make Arwen's anger subside at least a little. Tarisilya was right about one thing: There was no use at all, arguing right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * thuio = breathe  
> * sedho = rest


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder or two: Camhanar is Tauriel's husband in my verse, whom she met after moving to Imladris, after the fallout with Thranduil and the Battle of Five Armies. In my verse, he's the elf that we see help Elrond forge Andúril in the movies.
> 
> Avrelas has only been namedropped once or twice so far. He's been around in series part 6 at that conference in Minas Tirith and talked to Faramir for a moment in part 7 when Faramir discovered the kidnapped elves.
> 
> Also, another reminder for people not being familiar with LACE: The act of killing diminishes an elf's healing abilities which is why healer elves are usually discouraged from going to battle. Since Tarisilya ended up killing an Uruk-hai in self-defense in part 5 of this series, she's been struggling with that problem.
> 
> And a last remark regarding characterization: As I mentioned before, Éowyn has not been pictured overly sympathetic in this series so far. And since I'm a big advocate for well-written female characters, it's important to me to point out, that doesn't happen on a whim. It's definitely not like I want Arwen and her not getting along because "ha ha love triangle" or something. Éowyn's moodiness and hostility are coming from a factor out of her influence that won't be revealed for a few series parts to come. I promise she'll be alright in the end.

If anyone – his own father, for example, with a skeptically raised eyebrow – had asked Legolas at the end of the war why he wanted to establish an elf settlement in North Ithilien of all places, he could have named many reasons, all of them having something to do with a unique landscape and some distance to other realms that would soon die out. Just a few hours after entering the only place in this area that he'd never wanted to approach, all of these reasons were forgotten. There was hardly an area still radiating as much darkness as the Dead Marshes even millennia later. Leading his people close to them, trading both on their wish for a new home and on his reputation and his noble status, seemed like a bad dream to Legolas in hindsight.

Putting the blame on Aragorn's enemies would have been far too easy. While the Stewardaides had acted in cold blood, on a long-prepared plan, gathering when the elves they hated so much had started construction at Cair Andros and striking when their victims had been counting on it the least ... They hadn't mustered up the courage to wipe out their unloved neighbors. Instead, they had doubtlessly hoped that either a pack of wargs or the Dead Marshes would do that unpleasant job for them. Either way, the consequences were catastrophic enough.

And Legolas had _known_ the danger that these misguided men were posing, damnit, at the latest since Arwen's kidnapping. Nevertheless had he brought simple workers and even she-elves lacking every bit of fighting experience to this hazardous area, to fulfill a dream that was in truth only his own. How little he was doing for it, the kidnapping of his charges had clearly proven. If he could somehow manage to get his people out of this situation unharmed, he would happily pick his comparatively uncomplicated life as a King's son back up again, one without duties since Eryn Lasgalen would soon not exist anymore anyway, and without the fear of being responsible for the death of beings close to him.

For the moment, there was very little for that hope to be based on though.

If one had never tried searching an actually reasonably sized plain like this, they wouldn't know how many problems that confronted you with. Starting with the fog, as if the swamps had their own black soul and wanted to prevent the soldiers and Legolas from detecting the lost persons. They could only see a few feet ahead; even the fire that Faramir had told his men to kindle at the edge of the swamps was only visible as a weak red point in the distance. Without it, the warriors would have been lost too. Again and again, they hailed each other to make sure, everyone was still there.

Many of these usually surely courageous voices revealed an unease that Legolas wasn't able to shake off either. It was one thing, knowing from tales how many elves had fallen here in the War of the Last Alliance. It was another, actually standing on this very battlefield and spotting bloated, snow-white faces at every second glance into the muddy water surrounding the narrow paths through the swamps. It instinctively made you want to stop in terror, even if you'd seen a lot of bodies before. In curiosity, too, that could become deadly, when giving in to temptation.

Therefore, Legolas forced himself to move on, every time after lowering his head once more, in spite of Faramir's admonishments to exactly not do that. What had happened here was long over. The fallen were being honored in songs and legends; the grief was processed. The immortal among the victims had hopefully been released from the Halls of Mandos by now, sent back to a better life in the west.

It was the present day that had brought him to this field of destruction, not the past. As long as he kept that in mind and the fire didn't go out, nothing could happen to him here.

Far too many others before him had not had that certainty and had paid the price. Legolas had often wondered how the Hobbits had survived walking this plain in the war, even with Gollum's help.

He could have asked them; they had lived in Minas Tirith long enough. But there had just been no time for anything after the war, for nothing at all, especially not for being there for his Ring Companions or his wife. Just like in that cave that Legolas had been stuck in after the warg attacks on the settlement ... Here, in this place that was at least as dull, he also realized, there'd hardly been a day of rest since the Companions had started on their quest in Imladris. Well – once all of this was over and he would go back to Eryn Lasgalen, together with his wife, there would be enough of it.

The elves from his old home that had followed him here so trustingly, would surely be happy, especially the youngest one among them who had often been homesick lately, in spite of all enthusiasm. After this gruesome experience, there was no doubt that Avrelas would happily rather let his King snarl at him again because of a cup of too cold tea than keeping on looking death itself in the eye.

_If_ they all actually would … Only the Valar knew how long this search might take and if they would be successful.

When Faramir suddenly stopped, Legolas first thought he wanted to gather his people for a reorientation – probably advisable right now –, but then the Steward suddenly knelt down. Maybe he had forgotten his own nonstop lectures?

Crossing the puddle between them in a single jump, Legolas joined him. " _Careful_."

It was useless, trying to hide the anger growing with every hour that they went without a life sign of the lost elves. In spite of his own neglected responsibility towards his people: Legolas had not forgotten that it was due to Faramir's momentary foolish trust in the Stewardaides that the elves had been chased into the Dead Marshes at all. That was unforgivable; which also was why Legolas had been blocking every of Faramir's half-hearted attempts to start a conversation about it.

That was no reason to watch this careless man kill himself though. Legolas addressed him again when he didn't react right away, still keeping his eyes firmly on the water instead. Whatever it was that was there, it had all but paralyzed Faramir. Legolas didn't think himself strong enough to not be influenced by that as well, especially in his weakened condition. "We don't have time for this."

"Are you sure, Your Highness?" Faramir's toneless voice deepened the impression that he'd fallen for a dark fascination but when he slowly turned his head, Legolas understood how wrong he was. Faramir's head was completely clear; his pale eyes were wide open in shock and compassion. What Legolas had thought to be a trance, was in truth a sinister realization.

Though his mind was screaming at him that he was making a big mistake right now, Legolas looked into the water as well.

A corpse was trapped halfway beneath the shore, floating sideways; through the dirty, greenish surface, you could hardly even make it out. This was none of the bodiless shapes presenting only memories of beings whose bodies had long decayed. _This_ dead person was real. They hadn't been lying here for a whole Age.

Though there was long black hair languidly floating over the still face, Legolas needed but a second to recognize the merely three hundred years old elf who had moved to North Ithilien against his parents' explicit wish, always looking up to Legolas in admiration. Every task they had given the boy – mostly errands to Emyn Arnen, which was probably why Faramir had recognized the elf immediately –, he had carried out without objection and had valiantly fought every yearning for his home.

Legolas immediately reached out his hand to pull the corpse to the surface, free it from this unworthy grave, as if that would have made any difference now.

But this time it was Faramir roughly pulling him back. "Far too dangerous." He held Legolas tight by his upper arms when he tried to fight him, and Legolas was too exhausted to free himself immediately. " _Look at me_! Do you want to fall in and die too? Or do you want to find the others so that there won't be even more victims?"

Only once it was said out loud, the realization that one of the elves had indeed not survived this crisis, finally took shape, punching him in the stomach like an iron fist. Legolas fell to his knees; a long, choked scream escaped his throat. Behind his closed lids, he was seeing images of his charges, of their cheerful optimism, of many evenings with lovely singing by the fire, of their endless energy for the work in these lands' wilderness … And the vision that had haunted him so often in the last few hours, of how he would find every single one of them right here in these ponds, their bodies bloated like Avrelas', their eyes filled with deadly terror. What if there _weren't_ any survivors? What if they'd come far too late?

Faramir's empty words in his ear turned into a meaningless whisper. Nothing that would make any difference.

Not even the war could possibly have prepared Legolas for this overwhelming feeling of guilt.

He had been right the whole time; every time his father had tried to prepare him for ascending to the throne, at least for the unlikely case of his demise in some battle, and Legolas had fought the idea tooth and nail. He was simply not born to be a leader. He had never been able to forgive himself for making mistakes. And now another one had cost people their lives that he should have protected with his own, robbing them of the possibility to keep walking this world that they had loved so much. Maybe his father would finally believe him now?

The voices grew louder, so unbearably loud that he considered covering his ears. Why couldn't they just go away? The only thing left to do here was discovering the dead anyway and then get on his way to their families to tell them he had failed. He didn't need anyone for that.

Unfortunately, they didn't do him that favor. Instead, the painful pressure of Faramir's gloved grasp vanished. Someone was touching his forehead. This time it was tender, soft skin, not rough leather. A bright voice was whispering words to him that he had last heard Tarisilya say in Helm's Deep when she had healed him from bad physical and especially mental wounds. Words in Sindarin.

"Drego morn! Thuio. Echuio, Thranduilion. Echuio."

Only slowly, firmly convinced that the well-known voice would turn out to be just an illusion, Legolas opened his eyes.

A smile of relief brightened the grief-stricken face of a very strong-built, black-haired elf from Imladris. Indeed, it was Camhanar, the husband of one of Legolas' oldest friends … and of the she-elf that Legolas had protected from a murderous warg in said cave. "Stand up, Your Highness."

Still dazed from a shock subsiding only slowly, Legolas followed the prompt, bracing himself on Camhanar until his legs would carry him again. Bit by bit, his mind began to accept that _not_ everything was lost, that at least the other soldiers had been successful with their search.

Partly, at least. Though there weren't all of the missing people present, at least a big crowd of other elves had gathered around him, some of them slightly injured, silently watching the scene. They, too, showed relief when Camhanar got Legolas to become part of his surroundings again.

"It's easy to lose yourself in dark feelings in this place." Camhanar kept on firmly clasping his arm as if he feared Legolas throwing himself headfirst into the swamps any moment. "We have spent the last few hours, when all we had left was hopelessness, in the same stagnation. But now that our leader has come to free us from this trap, we will fret no more. Three of us are still out there and need help. Those for whom there is none left, we will have to mourn afterward." The way the Noldo was looking at the water revealed that Avrelas' death was nothing new for the group.

"In the dark, with no sense of direction, even for elves, it's impossible to stay together, no matter how hard you try. None of us noticed that he was staying behind. When we heard him fall, it was already too late. And when we ran back to help, we lost contact with the others." Although the treacherous tremble in Camhanar's voice was hard to miss, he was dealing with the loss a lot more composed than Legolas just had. The responsibility he had been given since the Stewardaides' attack, didn't allow for any weakness.

"Thank you." Legolas rested his hand on Camhanar's but pushed it away then. He had never been a friend of such proximity. A comfort of such kind he could only accept from Tarisilya.

Still, Camhanar's efforts had lifted some of the heavy burdens that had made breathing an almost impossible endeavor. "I never knew you're versed in the art of healing."

Legolas felt a bit of warmth returning to his bones; enough to greet the others by grasping their shoulders each for a moment while in his head, he was already feverishly working on a plan to track down the last missing elves, too.

"My wife taught me these words, unaware of how much I would need them one day." Camhanar didn't ask, so the soldiers had probably already reported to him the events at Cair Andros, and that Tauriel and their child were being alright.

Maybe together, they could work such a miracle a second time.

Legolas turned to Faramir. "Send two of your men to the fire together with the injured, please."

Faramir complied without comment, in spite of his visible reluctance to leave the people they'd only just found out of sight. But guided by his loyal followers, they would hopefully be able to leave the most dangerous part of this hike behind quickly enough.

Instead of mobilizing the others for the continuous march though, he took a demonstrative look at the sky that had completely darkened in the last few minutes. The thick cloud ceiling didn't even allow moonbeams through. "I understand you, you know that, but we have to wait for the morning to carry on."

"Until even more will have died?" That was the point when Legolas couldn't hold back anymore at last. "Has not yet enough happened for your taste? You still want to sit around, waiting for things to get worse?"

"You're way out of line." Instead of falling silent in shame because of his mistake last night, Faramir approached him, his jaw high. "Your word might be law in your realm, but you're in a country populated by common Men here. Men not equipped with a Firstborn's abilities. If you thought about these men who followed you here without hesitation for even for a moment, you'd notice that they haven't slept in days and have hardly eaten anything. An elf might be able to stand that easily for some time, but not beings like us, especially not in a place like this, in the middle of winter. Not everything can be achieved by iron will alone. If the men lose any more of their strength, they're the next to fall into the water."

"I'll come with you, Your Highness." Camhanar chimed in, probably noticing that in the light of these quite reasonable points, Legolas was already about to lose the short optimism again. "Those of us still here have fortunately not suffered any wounds but they are very exhausted as well. I still have energy; there's no reason for me to wait."

"You've done enough already." Legolas shook his head in determination. While in his mind, he had already given up his role as the leader of these elves earlier, in this case, he had to give a last order. He could only hope that it would be followed. "In that case, none of us will go. On my own, I would soon share Avrelas' fate, and a search party too small won't get us far."

He saw Faramir return to his men, satisfied, and turned away, his lips a thin line. The Steward might have been right this time, but between the two of them, nothing was clear, nothing at all.

"Your Highness?" Unlike a moment ago, Camhanar suddenly seemed comparatively shy. "Thank you … for everything. Is she …? I mean, how does she look?" In spite of the cruel incidents, the thought of his child had a bright sparkle of happiness gleam in his grey eyes.

"She's as strong as you and as tough as her mother. She has her red hair." Legolas returned his smile with a short nod but then retreated a little.

It was hard to be happy for a couple who had been gifted with the joy of a baby if you had lost your own even before it had been born. Being reminded of that the whole time on top of everything else now would have made the next few hours unbearable.

As Thondrar had surprisingly been taken into a separate room after all and almost all of the healers except for Ioreth had taken their leave for the moment, the room was being just as lonely as Arwen had wished it to be earlier. Enjoy it, she couldn't.

In spite of their fight, it didn't leave her cold, seeing Tarisilya stand at the window bowed down like that, looking outside into the falling night, searching in vain for the moon that – according to her sometimes slightly weird faith – had apparently not given her enough strength to sufficiently care for two patients at the same time. What she had already been afraid of after the catastrophe in Rohan was, unfortunately, more and more proving to be true … At least in some aspects, the talent that she had once been so famous for had indeed suffered from killing that Uruk-hai.

Arwen didn't dare to torture the other she-elf even more and was glad that Ioreth was the one to ask. A few minutes ago, everything had suddenly gone so fast that not even the other healer had really understood why Tarisilya had ordered Thondrar to be carried next door and had chased way all spectators.

There was no answer, only a brief headshake. Right now, Tarisilya didn't want to talk. She needed her energy for the treatment still ahead of her. Since the hope was obviously in vain that the riders from North Ithilien that not only Tarisilya was waiting for would appear in the courtyard under the window, she abandoned her watch post. After hectically downing a glass of water, she sat down by Aragorn's bedside.

Before she could start her dark incantations again though, Ioreth was suddenly standing next to her and looked down at her with her arms crossed. "You need to eat something, Princess. Water isn't enough if you plan to pull another few all-nighters."

"I'll be alright. Firstborn need neither as much food nor as much sleep as Men," Tarisilya answered with a tense smile.

"Do you think you and Lady Arwen are the first elves I got to know?" Ioreth's voice just became louder. "Don't take me for a fool. You've been neglecting yourself for months. You think I can't see that? Do you want to end up feeling like you did after the war when I'd already given you up and only the King could save you?"

Her authority turned into a motherly smile. "For that, I've grown too fond of you. Here, at least take this." She took a big piece of lembas bread from one of the night tables and thrust it into Tarisilya's hand. "A gift from your grumpy friend earlier. He said, you probably wouldn't accept it from him anyway. Do me the favor, please."

Tarisilya sensed that the woman wouldn't give in and got up with a sigh. "Please call me immediately if he's doing worse," she asked Arwen without looking at her, in a neutral tone, before she went outside on the balcony to catch her breath for a few minutes.

As if she'd only waited for that, Lady Éowyn scurried into the room without knocking just a few moments later. "Forgive me." Embarrassed, she bit her lip when Ioreth eyed her punishingly. "People outside are talking so much … I just wanted to see … They say the King won't make it. I've already failed to be around yesterday when I would have been needed ..." Suddenly tears were streaming down her cheeks. Quickly, she wiped them off with the sleeve of her dark dress.

A kind of dress that you could rarely see her wear since her wedding, reminding of the days when she had still been the niece of Rohan's King, woven from simple fabric, with wide sleeves and an embroidered top. Her pale figure and the untidiness of her hip-length hair, too, revealed that she wasn't in a mood to doll up, that she hadn't left her chambers since last night and felt just as wrecked as everyone else.

"Sit down." Ioreth felt bad for the young woman and led her to a chair.

Éowyn's cheeks were flushed. Losing control in public like that made her visibly uncomfortable.

And yet the sight of Aragorn's bed provoked even more tears. "This is just unthinkable. We didn't always agree on things, but he did save us all. He's rebuilt this land, and now everything will be over, just because of a few insane people? That's just not fair!"

"That's what we've been saying for months. Isn't it a little late for you to realize what these fanatics are capable of?" Arwen didn't even look up. The penetrance that Éowyn had forced her way into the room with made it hard to not openly say that she didn't want her to be here right now.

"I'm worried, just like you are, and I have certainly been for a while." Glaring at her, Éowyn suddenly jumped up and came to stand across Arwen, with her hands on her hips. "Is _that_ why you didn't even get me in the first place? Because you think I'm not on your side? I would have helped you, then none of this would have happened."

"No, instead we'd all be walking Rath Dínen right now. I entered the room the second the Stewardaid wanted to dagger him. By the time I had managed to wake you up, especially given you've surely had some sleeping tea once more, the King would have been dead."

Arwen eyed the Rohiril that looked so troubled with more compassion than anger. "Please do not talk about an incident before you know more about it than the gossiping folk. We don't need any more rumors."

Éowyn stepped closer to the bed, trembling with anger from words blunter than any that anyone had dared to tell her in a long time, as Arwen was certain. "That's not what I meant. Being the Steward's wife, I have a right to be informed about everything that's happening at the court. You should already have come to me when Her Highness of Eryn Lasgalen had disappeared instead of insisting to take care of everything on your own. To me, the guards would have listened. And that's exactly what I'll be saying if anyone asks. You better hope that the King will still be alive then to take you under his usual protection."

Arwen got up reluctantly, staring at Éowyn sharply over Aragorn's lifeless body. Apparently, it was indeed up to her of all people, finally teaching that girl who was in spite of her worthy contributions to the war still being so naïve, some facts.

"I'm sorry to tell you that, milady, but you're overestimating your status at the court. Your husband has as much a say in this realm's matters as the King grants him. You on the other hand have no authority here at all. Unlike in your home country, you are nothing more than a court lady in Gondor. If you have orders for me, tell the Steward to give them to me. Otherwise, treat your future Queen as your rank demands it. Better hope that I will forget the way your understandable emotionality just made you talk to me. The King should long have taken vigorous action against the treatment of the Stewardaides by your family as it is. No, I have indeed not heard a single hostile word from you about them. Walling yourself in, in South Ithilien, is much easier, isn't it? If it's true what people are saying about your husband right now, you _definitely_ should think twice before you're talking, Lady Éowyn. Maybe there's a reason why he had so few Stewardaides be taken prisoner in Aragorn's absence back then?"

" _How dare you_ …"

" _Get out_!" Both of them and Ioreth, too, who had tried in vain to mediate during Arwen's speech, went silent, when Tarisilya's deep voice sounded through the room, so roaring that a couple of birds on the balcony heard it through the closed door and fled, chirping in protest. "Do I need to say it in the Rohirrim's tongue first, Lady Éowyn? I said, _get out_. This is not a battlefield. I'm trying in despair to save somebody's life; I can't do that with arguments poisoning the air. No one but the healers and relatives are being allowed into this room, and I do not make exceptions for nobles."

Éowyn stared at her in shock, then she stormed outside so hastily that her sleeve got caught in the door handle and she almost toppled over.

"That wasn't necessary," Ioreth sighed. "It's not easy for her either. She feels unwelcome in Minas Tirith, and as far as a few people of the old school are concerned, she _is_. She's just afraid of the future, like the rest of us. She and her husband welcomed your people very kindly in Ithilien, didn't they?"

"You're probably right. I got carried away. The last nights have really been too long. I'll apologize to her later. There won't be time for politeness before all of this is over."

Caught up in her zest for action again already, Tarisilya approached Aragorn's bed – and collapsed. Almost without a sound, the hardly noticeable weight of an elf producing hardly more than a creak in the floor, and before the others even realized that she was losing consciousness.

"Didn't I _say_ it?" Her hands thrown up in the air, Ioreth bent over her. "I _did_ say it! You heard it, Lady Arwen, didn't you? Why is no one ever listening to me?"

"Spare me the drama, I'm still alive." Tarisilya had quickly woken up again and heard the last words. Dazed, she shook herself a little and got up, bracing herself on the bed, just ignoring Ioreth's arm. The routine that she put away the incident with had Arwen suspect, something like that hadn't happened for the first time. "Help me move the bed, then I can carry on. Can't fall down when you're on your back."

Ioreth looked like she wanted to voice a protest, but the worry for the King was stronger than the one about the only person in reach who might still be able to save him right now.

Arwen dropped on her chair with a grunt, more irritated by the minute not only by Éowyn. When her eyes grazed the other she-elf's far too thin figure, memories of the time after the Battle at the Black Gate came back, of how Tarisilya had still looked even long after her recovery. She took a short look at the balcony, than turned to her friend again.

"Tell me, Ilya: If I went looking, would I find some _very_ full doves out there? Or just a few crumbs you've dropped while eating?" To lose at least part of the energy building inside of her more and more, she joined Ioreth to lend a hand in moving the piece of furniture. "You're of no use to your patients completely exhausted. Does a healer seriously need to be told that first?"

There was no answer, only a tired shrug. Tarisilya still preferred to avoid fights for now, which had Arwen draw more and more conclusions about why apparently, something always had to blow up between Legolas and her first before something changed.

This time, Arwen knew what would come when Tarisilya took her famous book again and opened the same page as earlier.

When the other she-elf spoke up again, Arwen was actually expecting those words again, completely unknown to her before this day, in this ancient dialect even forbidden in many places. But Tarisilya turned to Ioreth again. "Is the King's advisor council still in session?"

"They will be until they learn anything about his condition, as far as I know," the healer nodded. "What else can they do? The Steward is gone, no one knows what really happened in North Ithilien, and the King … The city is in turmoil and concerned."

Tarisilya traced the drawing of an almost full moon adorning the page with her fingertips. "Are the advisors alone?"

"Your charming friend left for North Ithilien with Master Gimli, just like he said he would." Ioreth quickly left the room once she had seen with satisfaction that Tarisilya, feeling caught, was blushing.

"I didn't think I would ever say that, but I wish he was here."

Tarisilya put her book right on the gap between the two mattresses and rested her arm on it, like she had before. Then she put a new cooling cloth on Aragorn's forehead as if she wanted the thin fabric to weaken the effect of her hand. "For the first time since I was an elfling I could really use someone to read the law and textbooks to me."

"Maybe that's exactly why he's _not_ here because that's always the only thing you see in him." For the first time today, Arwen's words lost their harshness. She sounded just like she felt: tired and helpless. It was just a dry assessment that she didn't need to be answered.

What her friend had told her about this apparently forbidden kind of healing had her freeze enough as it was. She didn't even want to imagine what could happen if Tarisilya got distracted right now.

The next few hours, including a few breaks that Tarisilya needed to gather her strength, they spent silently. Those, the other she-elf always used to go outside to look after Thondrar anyway. And her expression never looked any more relaxed when she returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * drego morn = Flee night  
> * echuio = Awake


End file.
